Rewriting is still underway. I have about 15K words rewritten, though my pace slowed a little this week; I didn’t spend as much time over the weekend writing as I would have liked. I do good with long stretches where I can immerse myself in the work. Time slides by.
Even after planning in more detail before this draft I still find myself thinking of ways to change it, new scenes I want to add. I run on the trail and nearly face plant tripping over a rock . . . two seconds later I’m imagining Jack doing the same thing. He’d wipe out completely of course.
And on and on. It’s omnipresent. I put a post-it note on my monitor at work that says “do it for Jack” (in a parody of the Simpsons’ meme).
If you’ve talked to me lately you know I can’t stay quiet about babies, but this story is my baby. Jack actually feels like my child sometimes. I think to myself, you can think about having a kid when you finish giving birth to this fucking novel. Do other writers feel this attached to their characters? I think they do. Let’s call it normal.
Here are my last sentences written from this past week:
- 6/11: I shake out of her grip and follow.
- 6/12: I’m following the memory through — it’s a good one and I don’t mind — but Cora is already ordering for us.
- 6/13: I’m not going to pay for it at least.
- 6/14: The woman rolls her eyes.
- 6/15: I don’t have the buck fifty to spare.
- 6/16: I am hungry.
- 6/17: Cat jumps from his perch on the window and slinks under the couch.
With Love,
Natalie